by Robin Cook
“Good grief!” Laurie said and shuddered. “This case is starting to remind me too much of the Cerino affair.”
“I know what you mean,” Jack said. “Instead of eyes, it’s livers.”
“You don’t suppose there’s a private hospital here in the United States that’s doing undercover liver transplants, do you?” Laurie asked.
“I can’t imagine,” Jack said. “No doubt there could be big money involved, but there is the issue of supply. I mean, there’s seven thousand plus people in this country waiting for livers as it is. Few of these people have the money to make it worthwhile.”
“I wish I were as confident as you,” Laurie said. “The profit motive has taken over American medicine by storm.”
“But the big money in medicine is in volume,” Jack said. “There are too few wealthy people who need livers. The investment in the physical plant and the requisite secrecy wouldn’t pay off, especially without a supply of organs. You’d have to postulate some modern version of Burk and Hare, and although such a scenario might work in a B movie, in reality it would be too risky and uncertain. No businessman in his right mind would go for it, no matter how venal.”
“Maybe you have a point,” Laurie said.
“I’m convinced there’s something else involved here,” Jack said. “There are just too many unexplained facts from the DQ alpha nonsense to the fact that Franconi wasn’t taking any immunosuppressant drugs. We’re missing something: something key, something unexpected.”
“What an effort!” Laurie exclaimed. “One thing is for sure, I’m glad I foisted this case onto you.”
“Thanks for nothing,” Jack quipped. “It’s certainly a frustrating case. On a happier note, last night at basketball, Warren told me that Natalie has been asking about you. What do you say that we all get together this weekend for dinner and maybe a movie, provided they don’t have any plans?”
“I’d enjoy that very much,” Laurie said. “I hope you told Warren that I was asking about them as well.”
“I did,” Jack admitted. “Not to change the subject, but how was your day? Did you make any headway in figuring out how Franconi managed to go on his overnight? I mean, Lou telling us that a crime family was responsible isn’t telling us a whole bunch. We need specifics.”
“Unfortunately, no,” Laurie admitted. “I was caught in the pit until just a little while ago. I’ve gotten nothing done that I’d planned.”
“Too bad,” Jack said with a smile. “With my lack of progress, I might have to rely on you providing the breakthrough.”
After promises to talk with each other by phone that evening, specifically about the weekend plans, Laurie headed to her own office. With good intentions she sat down at her desk and started to go through the lab reports and other correspondence that had come in that day involving her uncompleted cases. But she found it difficult to concentrate.
Jack’s generosity in crediting her with providing the breakthrough in the Franconi case only made her feel guilty for not coming up with a working hypothesis about how Franconi’s body was taken. Seeing the effort Jack was expending on the case made her want to redouble her efforts.
Pulling out a fresh sheet of paper, Laurie began to write down everything Marvin had related. Her intuition told her that Franconi’s mysterious abduction had to involve the two bodies that went out the same night. And now that Lou had said the Lucia crime family was implicated, she was more convinced than ever that the Spoletto Funeral Home was somehow involved.
• • •
Raymond replaced the phone and raised his eyes to Darlene, who’d come into his study.
“Well?” Darlene asked. She had her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She’d been working out on an exercise bike in the other room and was clothed in sexy workout gear.
Raymond leaned back in his desk chair and sighed. He even smiled. “Things seem to be working out,” he said. “That was the GenSys operational officer up in Cambridge, Mass. The plane will be available tomorrow evening so I’ll be on my way to Africa. Of course, we’ll stop to refuel, but I don’t know where yet.”
“Can I come?” Darlene asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid not, dear,” Raymond said. He reached out and took her by the hand. He knew he’d been difficult over the previous couple of days and felt badly. He guided her around the desk and urged her to sit on his lap. As soon as she did, he was sorry. She was, after all, a big woman.
“With the patient and the surgical team, there’ll be too many people on the plane on the return trip,” he managed, even though his face was becoming red.
Darlene sighed and pouted. “I never get to go anywhere.”
“Next time,” Raymond croaked. He patted her on her back and eased her up into a standing position. “It’s just a short trip. There and back. It’s not going to be fun.”
With a sudden burst of tears Darlene fled from the room. Raymond considered following her to console her, but a glance at his desk clock changed his mind. It was after three and therefore after nine in Cogo. If he wanted to talk to Siegfried, he felt he’d better try now.
Raymond called the manager’s home. The housekeeper put Siegfried on the line.
“Things still going okay?” Raymond asked expectantly.
“Perfectly,” Siegfried said. “My last update on the patient’s condition was fine. He couldn’t be doing any better.”
“That’s reassuring,” Raymond said.
“I suppose that means our harvest bonuses will be forthcoming,” Siegfried said.
“Of course,” Raymond said, although he knew there would be a delay. With the necessity of raising twenty thousand cash for Vinnie Dominick, bonuses would have to wait until the next initiation fee came in.
“What about the situation with Kevin Marshall?” Raymond asked.
“Everything is back to normal,” Siegfried said. “Except for one incident when they went back to the staging area around lunch time.”
“That hardly sounds normal,” Raymond complained.
“Calm down,” Siegfried said. “They only went back to look for Melanie Becket’s sunglasses. Nevertheless, they ended up getting fired at again by the soldiers I’d posted out there.” Siegfried laughed heartily.
Raymond waited until Siegfried had calmed down.
“What’s so funny?” Raymond asked.
“Those numbskull soldiers shot out Melanie’s rear window,” Siegfried said. “It made her very angry, but it had the desired effect. Now I’m really sure they won’t be going out there again.”
“I should hope not,” Raymond said.
“Besides, I had an opportunity to have a drink with the two women this afternoon,” Siegfried said. “I have a feeling our nerdy researcher has something risqué going on.”
“What are you talking about?” Raymond asked.
“I don’t believe he’ll be having the time or the energy to worry about smoke from Isla Francesca,” Siegfried said. “I think he’s got himself involved in a ménage à trois.”
“Seriously?” Raymond asked. Such an idea seemed preposterous for the Kevin Marshall Raymond knew. In all of Raymond’s dealing with Kevin Marshall he’d never expressed the slightest interest in the opposite sex. The idea he’d have the inclination and stamina for one woman let alone two seemed ludicrous.
“That was the implication I got,” Siegfried said. “You should have heard the two women carrying on about their cute researcher. That’s what they called him. And they were on their way to Kevin’s for a dinner party. That’s the first dinner party he’s ever had as far as I know, and I live right across from him.”
“I suppose we should be thankful,” Raymond said.
“Envious is a better word,” Siegfried said, with another burst of laughter that grated on Raymond’s nerves.
“I’ve called to say that I’ll be leaving here tomorrow evening,” Raymond said. “I can’t say when I’ll arrive in Bata because I don’t know where we’ll refuel. I’ll have to c
all from the refueling stop or have the pilots radio ahead.”
“Anyone else coming with you?” Siegfried asked.
“Not that I know of,” Raymond said. “I doubt it because we’ll be almost full on the way back.”
“We’ll be waiting for you,” Siegfried said.
“See you soon,” Raymond said.
“Maybe you could bring our bonuses with you,” Siegfried suggested.
“I’ll see if it can be arranged,” Raymond said.
He hung up the phone and smiled. He shook his head in amazement concerning Kevin Marshall’s behavior. “You never know!” Raymond commented out loud as he got up and started from the room. He wanted to find Darlene and cheer her up. He thought that maybe as a consolation they should go out to dinner at her favorite restaurant.
Jack had scoured the single liver section Maureen had given him from one end to the other. He’d even used his oil-immersion lens to stare vainly at the basophilic specks in the heart of the tiny granuloma. He still had no idea whether they were a true finding, and if they were, what they were.
Having exhausted his histological and pathological knowledge with respect to the slide, he was about to take it over to the pathology department at New York University Hospital when his phone rang. It was Chet’s call from North Carolina, so Jack asked the appropriate question and wrote down the response. Hanging up the phone, Jack got his jacket from the file cabinet. With the jacket on, he picked up the microscopic slide only to have the phone ring again. This time it was Lou Soldano.
“Bingo!” Lou said cheerfully. “I got some good news for you.”
“I’m all ears,” Jack said. He slipped out of his bomber jacket and sat down.
“I put in a call to my friend in Immigration, and he just phoned me back,” Lou said. “When I asked him your question, he told me to hang on the line. I could even hear him entering the name into the computer. Two seconds later, he had the info. Carlo Franconi entered the country exactly thirty-seven days ago on January twenty-ninth at Teterboro in New Jersey.”
“I’ve never heard of Teterboro,” Jack said.
“It’s a private airport,” Lou said. “It’s for general aviation, but there’s lots of fancy corporate jets out there because of the field’s proximity to the city.”
“Was Carlo Franconi on a corporate jet?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know,” Lou said. “All I got is the plane’s call letters or numbers or whatever they call it. You know, the numbers and letters on the airplane’s tail. Let’s see, I got it right here. It was N69SU.”
“Was there any indication where the plane had come from?” Jack asked as he wrote down the alphanumeric characters and the date.
“Oh yeah,” Lou said. “That’s gotta be filed. The plane came from Lyon, France.”
“Nah, it couldn’t have,” Jack said.
“That’s what’s in the computer,” Lou said. “Why don’t you think it’s correct?”
“Because I talked with the French organ allocation organization early this morning,” Jack said. “They had no record of an American with the name of Franconi, and they categorically denied they’d be transplanting an American since they have a long waiting list for French citizens.”
“The information that Immigration has must correlate with the flight plan filed with both the FAA and the European equivalent,” Lou said. “At least that’s how I understand it.”
“Do you think your friend in Immigration has a contact in France?” Jack asked.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Lou said. “Those upper-echelon guys have to cooperate with each other. I can ask him. Why would you like to know?”
“If Franconi was in France I’d like to find out the day he arrived,” Jack said. “And I’d like to know any other information the French might have on where he went in the country. They keep close tabs on most non-European foreigners through their hotels.”
“Okay, let me see what I can do,” Lou said. “Let me call him, and I’ll call you back.”
“One other thing,” Jack said. “How can we find out who owns N69SU?”
“That’s easy,” Lou said. “All you have to do is call the FAA Control Aviation Center in Oklahoma City. Anybody can do it, but I’ve got a friend there, too.”
“Jeez, you have friends in all the convenient places,” Jack remarked.
“It comes with the territory,” Lou said. “We do favors for each other all the time. If you have to wait for everything to go through channels, nothing gets done.”
“It’s certainly convenient for me to take advantage of your web of contacts,” Jack said.
“So you want me to call my friend at the FAA?” Lou asked.
“I’ll be much obliged,” Jack said.
“Hey, it’s my pleasure,” Lou said. “I have a feeling that the more I help you the more I’m helping myself. I’d like nothing better than to have this case solved. It might save my job.”
“I’m leaving my office to run over to the University Hospital,” Jack said. “What if I call you back in a half hour or so?”
“Perfect,” Lou said before disconnecting.
Jack shook his head. Like everything else with this case, the information he’d gotten from Lou was both surprising and confusing. France probably was the last country Jack suspected Franconi to have visited.
After donning his coat for the second time, Jack left his office. Given the proximity of the University Hospital, he didn’t bother with his bike. It only took ten minutes by foot.
Inside the busy medical center, Jack took the elevator up to the pathology department. He was hoping that Dr. Malovar would be available. Peter Malovar was a giant in the field, and even at the age of eighty-two he was one of the sharpest pathologists Jack had ever met. Jack made it a point to go to seminars Dr. Malovar offered once a month. So when Jack had a question about pathology, he didn’t go to Bingham because Bingham’s strong point was forensics, not general pathology. Instead, Jack went to Dr. Malovar.
“The professor’s in his lab as usual,” the harried pathology department secretary said. “You know where it is?”
Jack nodded and walked down to the aged, frosted-glass door which led to what was known as “Malovar’s lair.” Jack knocked. When there was no response, he tried the door. It was unlocked. Inside, he found Dr. Malovar bent over his beloved microscope. The elderly man looked a little like Einstein with wild gray hair and a full mustache. He also had kyphotic posture as if his body had been specifically designed to bend over and peer into a microscope. Of his five senses only his hearing had deteriorated over the years.
The professor greeted Jack cursorily while hungrily eyeing the slide in his hand. He loved people to bring him problematic cases, a fact that Jack had taken advantage of on many occasions.
Jack tried to give a little history of the case as he passed the slide to the professor, but Dr. Malovar lifted his hand to quiet him. Dr. Malovar was a true detective who didn’t want anyone else’s impressions to influence his own. The aged professor replaced the slide he’d been studying with Jack’s. Without a word, he scanned it for all of one minute.
Raising his head, Dr. Malovar put a drop of oil on the slide and switched to his oil-immersion lens for higher magnification. Once again, he examined the slide for only a matter of seconds.
Dr. Malovar looked up at Jack. “Interesting!” he said, which was a high compliment coming from him. Because of his hearing problem, he spoke loudly. “There’s a small granuloma of the liver as well as the cicatrix of another. Looking at the granuloma, I think I might be seeing some merozoites, but I can’t be sure.”
Jack nodded. He assumed that Dr. Malovar was referring to the tiny basophilic flecks Jack had seen in the core of the granuloma.
Dr. Malovar reached for his phone. He called a colleague and asked him to come over for a moment. Within minutes, a tall, thin, overly serious, African-American man in a long white coat appeared. Dr. Malovar introduced him as Dr. Colin Osgood, chief of paras
itology.
“What’s your opinion, Colin?” Dr. Malovar asked as he gestured toward his microscope.
Dr. Osgood looked at the slide for a few seconds longer than Dr. Malovar had before responding. “Definitely parasitic,” he intoned with his eyes still glued to the eye pieces. “Those are merozoites, but I don’t recognize them. It’s either a new species or a parasite not seen in humans. I recommend that Dr. Lander Hammersmith view it and render his opinion.”
“Good idea,” Dr. Malovar said. He looked at Jack. “Would you mind leaving this overnight? I’ll have Dr. Hammersmith view it in the morning.”
“Who is Dr. Hammersmith?” Jack asked.
“He’s a veterinary pathologist,” Dr. Osgood said.
“Fine by me,” Jack said agreeably. Having the slide reviewed by a veterinary pathologist was something he’d not thought of.
After thanking both men, Jack went back out to the secretary and asked if he could use a phone. The secretary directed him to an empty desk and told him to push nine for an outside line. Jack called Lou at police headquarters.
“Hey, glad you called,” Lou said. “I think I’m getting some interesting stuff here. First of all, the plane is quite a plane. It’s a G4. Does that mean anything to you?”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said. From Lou’s tone it sounded as if it should have.
“It stands for Gulfstream 4,” Lou explained. “It’s what you would call the Rolls Royce of the corporate jet. It’s like twenty million bucks.”
“I’m impressed,” Jack said.
“You should be,” Lou said. “Okay, let’s see what else I learned. Ah, here it is: The plane is owned by Alpha Aviation out of Reno, Nevada. Ever hear of them?”
“Nope,” Jack said. “Have you?”
“Not me,” Lou said. “Must be a leasing organization. Let’s see, what else? Oh, yeah! This might be the most interesting. My friend from Immigration called his counterpart in France at his home, if you can believe it, and asked about Carlo Franconi’s recent French holiday. Apparently, this French bureaucrat can access the Immigration main-frame from his own PC, because guess what?”